​Image Source.​​​

I smell boredom in the air,

I hear silence in my ears,

the pens are bare,

though the muse is rare.

What's going on here?

Even though there are words for me to bear,

but for the sake of silence, I don't want to blare.

In muteness, I have been ensnared,

and to get out, I have to dare.

What's going on here?

In order to please this silence and my muse, I have to be fair,

to be fair, I'll fall into fears,

when I fall into fears, I can't help but shed tears,

just to be fair! But really who cares?

I'll rather satisfy my muse than to be mute,

I don't care whether I am accused of being rude,

I'll take it like that for no one understands,

can someone please tell me,

what's going on here?

​This Post First Appeared Here.​​​

Thank you for your time.

My pen doesn't bleed, it speaks, with speed and ease.

Still me,

My tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.

Olawalium; (Love's chemical content, in human form). Take a dose today: doctor's order.